Lazarus in the Yellow Mystery Spot
by Crowley's-demon-lover
Summary: A series of my favourite Supernatural episodes told from Dean's POV
1. Yellow Fever Pt 1

I ran down the street, darkened by night, and could hear the growling and barking noises behind me. Growling and barking that sounded just like hellhounds.  
I turned a corner and ran straight into a shopping trolley, falling over and taking it with me.  
On the floor, I looked up to see a homeless man rummaging through a garbage bin.  
"Run! It'll kill you!" I warned, pointing at the growling and barking.  
The homeless man looked in the direction of my finger and saw a little Yorkshire terrier with a pink ribbon.  
I got up and started running while shouting and screaming as I went.

In the morgue, the coroner opened the body bag on the gurney in front of us.  
"Inspector Tyler, Inspector Perry, meet Frank O'Brian."  
"He died of a heart attack right?" Sam asked.  
"Three days ago," the coroner confirmed.  
"But O'Brian was 44 years old and, according to this, a marathon runner," Sam held up the file he had.  
"Everybody drops dead sooner or later, it's why I got job security."  
"Yeah, but Franked kicked it here. Now, just yesterday, two healthy men bit it in Maumee. All heart attacks. don't you think that's strange?" I asked him.  
"Sounds like Maumee's problem to me. Why's the FBI give a damn, anyway?" The coroner looked at me and Sam in our suits.  
"We just want to see the results of Frank's autopsy," I said, ignoring the question.  
"What autopsy?"  
"The one you're going to do," I commanded.  
After getting prepared, the coroner started the autopsy by cutting the body open.  
"First dead body?" He asked us.  
"Far from it," I answered.  
"Oh good, because these suckers can get pretty ripe. Hey, hand me those rib cutters, would you?"  
Sam took a fortifying breath and I handed the coroner the cutters; he cut the ribs and, out of the corner of my eye, I could Sam trying to keep himself from squirming.  
"Is that from a wedding ring?" I moved Frank's hand toward me, looking at the white mark of a ring round his finger. "I didn't think Frank was married."  
"Ain't my department kid," the coroner told me.  
"Any idea how he got these?" Sam picked up Frank's arm that had scratches down it.  
"You know what? When you drop dead, you actually tend to drop. Body probably got scraped up when it hit the ground. Huh!"  
"What?" Sam asked, looking at the coroner's confused face.  
"I-I can't find any blockages in any of the major arteries."  
The coroner broke the heart out and I tried not to vomit.  
"Heart looks pretty damn healthy," he said and handed the heart to me. "Hold that a second, would you?"  
Standing next to me, Sam had a smirk on his face and the coroner cut something else inside the body.  
Something that looked like blood squirted out and hit Sam in the face.  
"Oh sorry, spleen juice," the coroner apologised, not seeming sorry at all.  
Now it was my turn to smirk.

Later that day, me and Sam headed to see Frank O'Brian's neighbour, ask him a few questions.  
"Tyler and Perry. Just like Aerosmith," the neighbour, Mark Hutchins, said.  
I looked around the room while Sam questioned, "yeah, small world. So, the last time you saw Frank O' Brian?"  
I saw a big lizard in a tank to the side of me and I faced forward.  
"Monday. He was watching me from his window. I waved at him but he just closed his curtains," Mark answered.  
"Hmmm, did you speak to him recently? Did he seem different? Uh, scared?" Sam asked.  
"Oh, he was totally freaking out."  
Sam looked at me and saw the freaked out look on my face.  
"Do you know, uh, do you know what scared him?" I asked Mark.  
"Well, yeah. Witches."  
"Witches?" Sam raised his eyebrows and we looked at each other. "Like . . .?"  
"Well, 'Wizard of Oz' was on TV the other night, right? And he said that green bitch was totally out to get him," Mark explained.  
"Anything else scare him?"  
"Everything else scared him. Al Qaeda, ferrets, artificial sweetener. The pez dispensers with their dead little eyes. Lots of stuff."  
I looked around again at the animals in the aquariums.  
"So, tell me, what was Frank like?" Sam carried on.  
"I mean, he's dead, you know? I-I don't want to hammer him but, he got better."  
"He got better?"  
"Well, in high school, he was a dick."  
"A dick?" Sam asked, confused.  
"Like a bully. I mean, he probably taped half the town's butt cheeks together."  
When Mark said this, I couldn't help but laugh; he didn't seem to like it as he frowned at me.  
"Mine included," he carried on.  
"So, he pissed a lot of people off. You think anyone would have wanted to get revenge?" I asked him.  
"Well, I don't . . .Frank died of a heart attack right?"  
"Just answer the question, sir," Sam demanded.  
"No, I don't think so. Like I said, he got better. And after what happened to his wife."  
"His wife? So he was married," I said, remember the white mark where his wedding ring should have been.  
"She died about 20 years ago, Frank was really broken up about it," Mark told us.  
I started staring at the snake that Mark had around his neck and he noticed.  
"Don't be scared of Donny," he laughed. "He's a sweetheart. It's Marie you gotta look out for."  
He nodded toward the couch I was sat on and added, "she smells fear."  
As an albino snake started to slide over the back top of the couch and seeing it, I gasped.  
Staying very still, in fear, the snake started crawling into my lap. Boy, I had to get out of there.  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x -x-x-x-x  
Later that night, I was sat in Baby, waiting for Sam and man, the inside of my left forearm was really itching but scratching seemed to do nothing.  
The passenger door opened and Sam climbed in. "Hey, any luck at the clerk's office?"  
"I'm not sure I'd call it luck," I answered and started to explain. "Frank's wife, Jessie, was a manic-depressive. She went off her meds back in '88 and vanished. They found her two weeks later, three towns over. Strung up in her hotel room, suicide."  
"Any chance Frank helped her along to the other side?" Sam suggested.  
"No, Frank was working the swing shift when she disappeared, Airtight alibi," I said and started up the car and started driving through town. "How was Frank's pad?"  
"Clean, searched it from top to bottom. No EMF, no hex bags, no sulphur."  
"So probably no ghosts, no witches, no demons," I stated the obvious.  
"Pft," was all Sam replied with.  
"3 down and 97 to go."  
"Yeah," Sam said and, after looking at my speedometer, said "dude, you're going 20."  
"And?" I asked.  
"That's the speed limit."  
"What? Safety's a crime now?"  
I wasn't going to risk going over the speed limit and get injured; our hotel was on my left but for some reason I just carried on driving past it.  
"Dude, where are you going? That was our hotel," Sam said.  
"Sam, I'm not gonna make a left-hand turn into oncoming traffic. I'm not suicidal," I said without thinking and then paused.  
Sam frowned at me confused, and I could understand why.  
"Did I just say that? That was kind of weird."  
Not even 20 seconds after I'd just spoke, the EMF meter started going off.  
"Do you hear something?" Sam asked me and got out the EMF.  
The closer he moved it to me, the louder it got. It only ever sounded for one reason and I knew what that reason was.  
"Am I haunted? Am I haunted?"  
Things were starting to get weird and I wasn't handling them as well as I normally did.  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x -x-x-x-x  
The next day, while Sam was on the phone to Bobby, I turned the radio on in the car and laid down across the front seat. Eye of the Tiger. I loved this song.  
Forget air guitar, I am a drummer and drumming away to the song, I didn't see Sam come back so when he banged on the roof of the car, I nearly crapped myself.  
"Look at this," I showed Sam my arm.  
The itching hadn't got any easier, in fact it had got worse and now there were long, red scratches down my arm.  
"I just talked to Bobby," Sam said and handed me a box of donuts.  
"And?" I asked, taking the donuts, sniffing them and throwing them into the car.  
Sam looked at me strangely and then answered, "um, well, you're not going to like it."  
"What?" I was starting to get nervous about what Sam knew.  
"It's ghost sickness."  
"Ghost sickness?" I repeated.  
"Yeah," Sam confirmed and I sighed, letting out a "god no."  
"Yeah," he said again.  
"I don't even know what that is."  
Sam took a deep breath and started to explain. "Okay, some cultures believe that certain spirits can infect the living with a disease, which is why they stopped displaying bodies in houses and started taking them off to funeral homes."  
"Okay, get to the good stuff," I waved him on.  
"Symptoms are you get anxious."  
"Yeah."  
"Then scared, then really scared, then your heart gives out. Sound familiar?" Sam asked.  
"Yeah, but Sam, we haven't seem a ghost in weeks," I pointed out.  
"Well, I doubt you caught it from a ghost. Look, once a spirit infects that person, ghost sickness can spread like any sickness; through a cough, a handshake, whatever. It's like the flu. Now, Frank O'Brien was the first to die, which means he was probably the first to die, which means he was probably the first infected. Patient zero."  
"Our very own outbreak monkey," I said.  
"Right, get this. Frank was in Maumee over the weekend. Softball tournament. Which is where he must have infected the other two victims," Sam told me.  
"Were they gamecocks?" I asked.  
"Cornjerkers," Sam answered me.  
"So, ghost infects Frank, he passed it on to the other guys and I get it from his corpse?"  
"Right."  
"So what now? I have 48 hours before I go insane and my heart stops?" My eyes widened.  
"More like 24," Sam corrected me.  
"Super," I said sarcastically, to which my loving brother agreed.  
"Well, why me? Why not you? I mean, you got hit with the spleen juice," I asked him.  
"Yeah, um, you see, Bobby and I have a theory about that too. Turns out all three victims shared a certain, uh . . .personality type. Frank was a bully. The other two victims, one was a vice principal and the other was a bouncer," Sam said.  
"Okay," I replied, confused.  
"Basically, they were all dicks."  
"You're saying I'm a dick?" I straightened up and raised my eyebrows.  
"No, no, no," Sam tired to backtrack. "It's not just that. All three victims used fear as a weapon, and now this disease is just returning the favour."  
"I don't scare people," I said.  
"Dean, all we do is scare people."  
"Well then, you're a dick too."  
"Apparently I'm not," Sam looked at me with a smug look on his face.  
"Whatever, how do we stop it?" I asked.  
"We gank the ghost that started all this. We do that, the disease should clear up."  
"You're thinking Frank's wife?"  
"Who knows why she killed herself, you know. Hey, what are you doing waiting out here anyway?" Sam asked me.  
I looked past Sam to the hotel. "Our room's on the fourth floor."  
Sam looked at me and just shook his head.  
"It's high," I said, trying to make him understand.  
I'd never been afraid of heights but the fourth floor? Anything could happen. I could fall out the window or something.  
"I'll see if I can move us down to the first," Sam said and headed to the hotel.  
"Thanks."  
"Sure."  
I got back into the car and grabbed the box of donuts, opening and looking at them.  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x -x-x-x-x  
A few hours later, I was sat in the hotel room with a book in front of me and staring at the clock. It was ticking loud. Really loud but the tickling in my throat pulled my attention away, making me cough.  
Looking back at the book I was reading, a page about ghost sickness, certain words catching my eye. _Ghost sickness. Delirium. Hallucinations. Horrible death.  
_I only started freaking out when the words started leaping out at me, words aimed at me.  
**You're dying . . . Again. Loser**.  
I rubbed my eyes. There was no way this was happening. It wasn't possible.  
**You gonna cry? Baby gonna cry?**  
I gritted my teeth and clenched my jaw. I was gonna beat this, it wan't gonna win, this stupid ghost sickness.  
I looked up at the clock again. It was louder. _Tick. Tick. Tick. _Reminding me that I only had so many hours left before my heart gave out, taunting me.  
When Sam came into the room, I was resting on the couch drinking a beer; he looked down at the smashed clock on the floor and looked back at me.  
"Everything okay?"  
"Oh yeah, just peachy. Find anything?" I acted like nothing was wrong.  
"Yeah. Jesse O'Brien's body was cremated, so I'm pretty sure she's not our ghost. Hey, quit picking at that. How you feeling?" Sam asked after digging at me for picking the scratched on my arm.  
Awesome. It's nice to have my head on the chopping block again. I almost forgot what that feels like."  
"Yeah."  
Damn, Sam said that way too much.  
"It's freaking delightful," I said, sarcastically.  
"We'll keep looking," Sam reassured me and I started coughing. "You okay? Hey!"  
Something was stuck in my throat, blocking my airway. 'Breath Dean, breath,' I told myself.  
I ran to the sink and started gagging, being sick until a woodchip fell out of my throat, clearing my throat and allowing me to breath.  
"We've been completely ignoring the biggest clue we have; you," Sam said and smiled.  
"I don't want to be a clue," I pouted and sulked.  
"The abrasions, this . . ." he pointed at the woodchip. "This disease, it's trying to tell us something."  
"Tell us what, wood chips?"  
"Exactly," Sam confirmed, nodding.  
In the afternoon, Sam dragged me to the lumber mill and I looked at it, apprehensive.  
"I'm not going in there."  
"I need backup and you're all I've got. You're going in, Dean," Sam told me, leaving no room for argument.  
I got out the hipflask I had and took a long swig of whiskey. "Let's do this. It is a little spooky isn't it?"  
I couldn't believe I was getting spooked over this, of all the places me and Sam had broken into, but I couldn't help it; it was like a compulsion.  
Sam handed me a gun and I shook my head, furiously.  
"Oh, I'm not carrying that, it could go off," I refused and grabbed a large torch from the boot of the car. "I'll man the flashlight."  
"You do that."  
Sam started walking to the mill, shaking his head.  
Inside, the EMF meter started going off and my brother pulled it out.  
"EMF's not gonna work with me around is it?" I asked.  
"You don't say. Come on," Sam turned it off and carried on walking. "Wait."  
It startled me, Sam saying that and I watched him bend down and pick up a ring.  
"'To Frank. Love Jessie.' Frank O'Brien's ring."  
"What the hell was Frank doing here?" I asked, confused.  
"No idea."  
I followed Sam into a room full of lockers where we heard rustling; he crept up the noisy locker and looked at me, mouthing "on three."  
My heart started racing, almost scared of what was waiting inside and as my fear built and built, when Sam pulled open the door, I let out a stupid scream before realising that all was inside was a cat.  
"That was scary," I said, feeling embarrassed and the way Sam was looking at me didn't help. He just walked away, leaving me to call "wait," after him.  
When I caught up with him, he was leaning over a desk, looking at an ID card.  
"Luther Garland."  
On another table, I saw a drawing of a woman that I recognised.  
"Hey, this is uh . . .this is Frank's wife."  
"Plot thickens," Sam said, almost under his breath.  
"But into what? I asked.  
I pulled the drawing and as it ripped, the machines around us kicked into life.  
I looked around, my hackles rising and I saw something in the corner. A man. A big bald man.  
Sam noticed me looking, my eyes widening and he turned around to see what I was looking at.  
"Hey!"  
It was a ghost. A dead man that haunted the mill. This man wasn't real. The only thing I wanted to do was run away and run away I did.  
When Sam turned around, all he saw was the doors swinging and me running for my life out of the mill.  
He aimed the gun at the apparition and shot, the ghost dissolving into smoke.  
When he came out, he found me hiding behind Baby, gulping at the whiskey inside my flask.  
"Guess we got the right place," Sam said to me.


	2. Yellow Fever Pt 2

After we left the mill, we headed to the Sherriff office.  
The Deputy behind the folder we requested to Sam. "This is the Garland file."  
He looked past Sam to see me swaying behind him.  
"Is he . . .drunk?" The Deputy asked.  
Sam looked at him, blank and thinking what to say.  
"No. Deputy, according to this, Luther Garland's cause of death was physical trauma. What does that mean?"  
"The guy died 20 years ago, before my time. Sorry," the Deputy shrugged.  
He was right, he was only young; late 20's, early 30's at the most.  
"Then can we talk to the Sherriff?" Sam asked.  
"Um, he's out sick today," the Deputy answered, nervous.  
"Well, if you see him, will you have him call us? We're staying at the Bluebird. Mind if I take this?" Sam didn't wait for an answer, he just turned and left, folder in hand.  
Still swaying, warm inside from the whiskey, I looked at the Deputy, stood there watching me, not knowing what to expect.  
I pointed at him and smiled. "You know what? You're awesome."  
"Thanks. Um, y-you too, I guess," he replied awkwardly and smiled.  
Sam came back, grabbed the back of my collar and dragged me back outside with him.  
That night, after tracking down the only family Luther Garland had left, we headed to Peaceful Pines Assisted Living.  
"This isn't gonna work. Come on, these badges are fake. What if we get busted? We could go to jail."  
I looked at badges we had used over a hundred times and panicked. If we got caught we would go to prison. I didn't want to die in prison but chances are I'd die before that anyway if this didn't get solved.  
"Dean, shh! Calm down. Deep breath, okay?" Sam tried to help me relax. I look a deep breath, which helped a little. "There. You feel better?"  
I shook my head, letting him know that, no I didn't feel better.  
"Just come on. Don't scratch."  
After looking at all the elderly people, our sights landed on a man sat at a table at the side of the room.  
"Mr. Garland. Hi uh, I'm Agent Tyler. This is Agent Perry, FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions about your brother, Luther," Sam introduced and asked.  
"Let me see some ID," Mr. Garland responded.  
"Certainly," Sam nodded and held out his badge.  
I did the same, adding "those are real, obviously. I mean, who would pretend to be an FBI agent, huh? That's just nutty."  
Sam looked at me and scowled, trying to tell me to pull it together.  
"What do you want to know?" Mr. Garland asked.  
"Uh, well . . .according to this, your brother, Luther, died of physical trauma," Sam said and the only reaction he got was a scoff, so he carried on. "You don't agree."  
"No I don't," the reply came, bluntly.  
"Well then, what would you call it?" Sam asked.  
"Don't matter what an old man thinks."  
"Mr. Garland. We're trying to get the truth on your brother. Please."  
"Everybody was scared of Luther. They called his a monster. He was too big, too mean-looking. Just too different. Didn't matter he was the kindest man I ever knew. Didn't matter he's never hurt no one. A lot of people failed Luther. I was one of them. I was a widower with three young 'uns. And I told myself there was nothing I could do," the old man explained.  
"Mr. Garland, do you recognise this woman?" Sam handed him a picture of Jessie O'Brien.  
"It's Jessie O'Brien. Her man, Frank, killed Luther," Mr. Garland confirmed.  
"How do you know that?"  
"Everybody knows. They just don't talk about it. Jessie was a receptionist at the mill. She was always real nice to Luther, and he had a crush on her, but Frank didn't like it. And when Jessie went missing, Frank was sure that Luther had done something to her. Turns out the old gal killed herself, but Frank didn't know that. They found Luther with a chain wrapped around his neck. He was dragged up and down the stretch outside that plant till he was past dead," Mr Garland stared into space, recalling the past.  
"And O'Brien was never arrested?" I finally joined in.  
"I screamed to every cop in town. They didn't want to look into Frank. He was a pillar of the community. My brother was just the town freak."  
"You must have hated Frank O'Brien," Sam said.  
"I did for a long time, but life's too short for hate, son. And Frank wasn't thinking straight. His wife had vanished, he was terrified. A damn shame he had to put Luther through the same, but . . .that's fear. It spreads and spreads."  
When we got outside, back into the night, me and Sam stood either side of my car.  
"Now we know what these are, road rash," I held out my left arm. "And I'm guessing Luther swallowed some wood chips when he was being dragged down that road."  
"Makes sense. You're experiencing his death in slow motion," Sam stated.  
"Yeah well, not slow enough, huh? Say we burn the bones and get me healthy," suggested.  
"Dean, it won't be that easy."  
"No, no, it'll be that easy. Why wouldn't it be that easy?" I asked, anxiety taking over.  
"Luther was road-hauled. His body was ripped to pieces, he was probably scattered all over that road. There's no way we're gonna find all the remains," Sam explained.  
"You're kidding me?"  
"Look, we'll just have to figure something else out."  
"You know what? Screw this," I blurted out.  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Dean," Sam said.  
"Come on. No, I mean, come on, Sam. What are we doing?!" I cried.  
"We're hunting a ghost," he told me.  
"A ghost, exactly! Who does that?" I said, thinking we were mad.  
"Us," Sam said, looking ar me, worried.  
"Us? Right. And that Sam, that is exactly why our lives suck. I mean, come on, we hunt down monsters! What the hell?! I mean, normal people, they see a monster, and they run. But not us, no, no, no, we - we search out things that want to kill us. Yeah? Huh? Or eat us! You know who does that? Crazy people! We . . .are insane!" I ranted and raved. "You know, there's the bad diner food and then the skeevy motel rooms and then the truckstop waitress with the bizarre rash. I mean, who wants this life, Sam? Huh? Seriously? Do you actually like being stuck in a car with me for eight hours a day, every single day? I don't think so! I mean, I drive too fast. And I listen to the same five albums over and over and over again, a-and I sing along. I'm annoying, I know that that. And you-you're gassy! You eat half a burrito, and you get toxic! I mean, you know what?" I cried and tossed Sam the car keys. "Forget it."  
"Whoa, Dean, where are you going?" Sam said, also starting to get anxious, worried for me.  
"Stay away from me Sam, okay? Cause I am done with it, I'm done with monsters and-and-and the hellhounds and the ghost sickness and the damn apocalypse. I'm out. I'm done. Quit."  
The only thing going through my mind was that this was the smartest thing that I'd ever done, that I should have done this years ago.  
I walked away, leaving Sam watching me, looking helpless. I got a couple of streets away and that was when I heard the growling behind me.  
Extremely nervous, I slowly turned around and saw the dog behind me. Dogs were evil, they chased and bit and attacked.  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x -x-x-x-x  
I got back to the hotel before Sam did and sat on the sofa, out of breath and sweating.  
"I looked everywhere for you, Dean. How the hell did you get here?" Sam asked.  
"Ran. What do we do now? I got less than four hours on the clock. I'm gonna die, Sammy," I said, trying to hold back the tears.  
"Yeah, you are. You're going back."  
I looked at Sam, puzzled. "Back?"  
"Downstairs Dean, hell. It's about damn time too. Truth is," Sam looked at me, his eyes now yellow. "You've been a real pain in my ass."  
He waved his hand and threw me back against; all he had to do was use a hand gesture.  
"No! You get out of my brother, you evil son of a bitch!" I shouted to the demon inside Sam.  
"No one's possessing me, Dean. This is what I'm going to become. This is what I want to become. There's nothing you can do about it." Sam flexed his hand and started choking me.  
"Hey, hey, hey, Dean. Hey, Dean, Dean, Dean," Sam's voice brought me out of the hallucination.  
An few hours passed and I was sat in the hotel room when my phone rang.  
"Hey," I answered.  
"Hey! So, uh, just ride out the trip, okay? You're-you're gonna be fine. We got a plan," Sam said, trying to sound confident. I knew he had left an hour ago to meet up with Bobby.  
"What is it?" I asked.  
"Uh, just a good plan, all right? Hang in there," he said, avoiding telling me what the plan was and hung up the phone.  
It wasn't long after the phone call that another hallucination hit.  
I was sat on the bed, scratching my arm and I heard what Sam had said during the last hallucination, all over again.  
"You're going back. It's about damn time too. Hahaha."  
Outside, I heard the sound of barking. Oh no.  
I looked down at my watch and saw something on the floor; picking it up, I saw a bible and picked it up.  
"Hi Dean," a little girl's voice said beside me.  
I looked to my left and saw the little girl, long blonde hair, pink and white dress. Lilith.  
"Huh, no! No!"  
"Yeah, it's me, Lilith," she said and wrapped her arms around me, making me cringe. "Oh, I missed you so much. It's time to go back now."  
I moved away from the little girl. "You-you're not real!"  
I shook my head, saying it over and over again in my head, trying to convince myself  
"What's the matter, Dean? Don't you remember all the fun you had down there? You do remember, 4 months is like 40 years in hell. Like doggy years. And you remember every second," Lilith said in her little girl voice.  
Oh god, the pain in my chest was so bad; oh my heart. "You are not real."  
I clutched the bible, holding it against my forehead.  
"It doesn't matter. You're still gonna die. You're still gonna burn."  
"Why me? Why's I get infected?" I asked her, upset, scared.  
"Silly goose. You know why Dean. Listen to your heart."  
My heart was racing, beating too hard and too fast. "Whu . . .?"  
"Baboom, baboom, baboom, baboom," Lilith said, getting louder each time.  
Two or three hours later, I was still alive, thanks to Sam and Bobby.  
"So you guys road-hauled a ghost with a chain?" I quizzed.  
"Iron chain etched with spell work," Sam confirmed, and took a swig of the beer he was holding.  
"Hmm, that's a new one," I said and took a swig of mine.  
"It was what he was most afraid of. It was pretty brutal though."  
"On the upside, I'm still alive, so uh, go team!2  
"Yeah. How you feeling by the way?" Sam checked me over, although I knew he meant how was I mentally.  
"Fine," I shrugged, telling them the truth.  
"You sure, Dean? Cause this line of work can get awful scary," Bobby taunted me, testing me.  
"I'm fine. You want to ho hunting? I'll hunt. I'll kill anything." I back to my normal self; tough, brave, not afraid to take on anything and I wasn't gonna let them think otherwise.  
"Awww, he's adorable. I gotta get out of here. You boys drive safe," Bobby said and left in his car.  
"So uh . . .so, what did you see? Near the end I mean," Sam questioned me about my hallucinations.  
"Oh, besides a cop beating my ass?" I raised an eyebrow.  
"Seriously," he said with a straight, serious face.  
I looked at him and saw his eyes flash yellow.  
"Howler monkeys, whole room full of them," I lied. "Them things creep the hell out of me."  
"Right," Sam said, obviously not believing me.  
"No, just the usual stuff, Sammy. Nothing I couldn't handle," I reassured him and we both stood, leaning against Baby, finishing our beers.


	3. Lazarus Rising Pt 1

I opened my eyes and all I could see was black. Where was I? I tried to move, to sit up but I confined in something. There was hardly any air and it was hard to breath, making me cough and gasp.  
Getting out my zippo, I lit it so I could see where I was. A box. A coffin.  
"Help!" I tried to shout, my dry throat making my voice raspy.  
I started banging on the lid of the box with my hands and kicking it with my feet until I decided to try pulling the wood.  
Dirt caved in, filling my mouth and suffocating me. I started to dig with me hands until I felt fresh air against my skin. I was free. I managed to put myself out and I rolled over onto my back taking huge gasps of the clean air I'd missed for so long.  
When I got my breath back, I stood up and looked around, the sunlight burning my eyes; something weird had happened. The trees that circled the place I had been buried were all lying flat on the ground in a huge circle.  
After turning in a curcle staring at them, I started walking, looking for civilisation.  
Finally, after I don't know how long, I came across a run down gas station on an empty country road.  
Pounding of the door, I called out "hello?" but there didn't seem to be anybody there, despite the vehicles outside.  
The shirt I was wearing was wrapped around my waist, I couldn't wear it in the heat so I unwrapped it and rolled it round my fist to break the glass in the entrance door.  
I headed straight to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, swigging it. Oh god, that tasted so good.  
Looking around, I grabbed a newspaper and looked at the date.  
**Thursday, September 18****th****, 2008.**  
"September," I said, confused.  
I had been in hell for four months, but it felt more like years.  
I headed to the bathroom and stood in front of a dingy, dirty sink and started washing the dirt off my face. Ahh, clean.  
Afterward drying my face on my shirt, I looked at my reflection and the black shirt I was wearing. The black shirt without the tears the hellhound made when it killed me. I lifted it up and looked at my chest, I didn't even have scars but someone I knew something was wrong. I checked my left shoulder next and there, on the top of my arm was a large, raw handprint. It looked like it a horrendous scar after a hand had been burnt into my skin.  
I pulled my sleeve down and headed back into the store, grabbing snacks and cereal bars off the shelf, more bottles of water, and stashed them into a plastic bag. Walking, I stopped at a magazine rack and smiled. Busty Beauties. That's more like it. I flipped through it and added it to the bag.  
I moved to the counter next, leaving my bag on the side. I pressed a button and the till popped open making me snap my fingers in satisfaction. It was kind of weird that someone would leave money here.  
As I was getting the money out, the TV next to me flickered on, showing nothing but static. When I reached over and turned it off, the radio kicked into life playing country music with white noise over it. The TV turned itself on again.  
Something wasn't right so to be safe I grabbed a carton of salt and started pouring it along the windowsill.  
The white noise changed to a high-pitched whistling and started to hurt my ears so I used my free hand to cover my left ear, and carried on pouring the salt with my right. The noise kept getting louder and louder until I couldn't bear it and dropped the salt, covering both ears and groaning in agony. The sound going to the point where even the windows couldn't take it, shattering the glass and causing me to throw myself on the floor to avoid getting hit.  
I leapt to my feet and ran to the exit, trying to escape but the glass in the door smashed inwards, towards me, making me hit the floor again and hen the noise stopped at suddenly as it had started. I pulled myself up, using the counter and walked to the windows, looking out while wondering what the hell had just happened  
I headed outside to the phone booth and dialled Sam's number only to get an alert tone so I tried his other number; this time all I got was a recorded voice. "We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected."  
I hung up for a second time, put another coin in and tried Bobby's number. It only rang once before it was answered.  
"Yeah?"  
"Bobby?" I asked.  
"Yeah?" He answered.  
"It's me."  
"Who's me?" He asked. I couldn't believe he didn't recognise my voice. How many times had I spoken to him on the phone? Thousands.  
"Dean," I said, only to get a dial tone. He hung up on me. I put in another quarter and rang him again.  
"Who is this?" He sounded annoyed.  
"Bobby, listen to me," I tried to make him listen.  
"This ain't funny. Call again and I'll kill ya." Again, he hung up the phone.  
I stared at the phone in shock and placed it back then turned round, my eyes settling on a beat up white car. Awesome.  
I headed over to the car and tweaked the wires. When the engine started, climbed in and drove away. If Bobby wasn't going to talk to me then I was gonna make sure he saw me instead.  
When I finally got there, I pounded on his door and waited for him, out of breath. When Bobby answered, he looked at me suspiciously and I smiled at him. "Surprise."  
"I . . .I don't," he was speechless and looked totally shocked.  
"Yeah, me neither," I agreed with him and walked into his house. "But here I am."  
I didn't see Bobby grabbing the silver knife off the table beside him but I did see him lunge at me and moved just in time to grab his arm and twist it around but Bobby broke the grip and backhanded me across the face.  
"Bobby! It's me!" I shouted, stumbling backwards, holding my face.  
"My ass!" He shouted back and stormed toward me.  
I moved backwards into the kitchen and put a chair between us, holding my hands out. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait! Your name is Robert Steven Singer You became a hunter after your wife got possessed and . . .you're about the closest thing I have to a father. Bobby, it's me." I tried to prove it to him by throwing facts at him.  
Bobby lowered the knife stepped forward slowly. He pushed the chair out of the way and gently placed a hand on my shoulder, his mouth hanging open, then suddenly slashed again but I again managed to pull the same move on him, holding his arms behind his back and prising the knife out of his hand before pushing him away.  
"I'm not a shapeshifter either!"  
"Then you're a revenant!" He shouted.  
With the knife I still had in my hand, I held it out in front of me, I said "alright, if I was either, could I do this with a silver knife."  
I rolled up my sleeve, took a deep breath and cut across my arm  
"Dean?" Bobby said, his voice faltering as he started to believe me.  
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," I whispered, walking toward him.  
His will gave and, trying not to cry, he pulled me into a tight hug. With enthusiasm, I hugged him back, relieved.  
"It's . . .it's good to see you boy."  
"Yeah, you too," I agreed.  
"But . . .how did you burst out?" He asked confused.  
"I don't know. I just, uh . . .woke up in a pine bo-" I was cut off by water being thrown in my face. I paused, spat out the water, and said, "I'm not a demon either, you know."  
"Sorry, can't be too careful," Bobby shrugged.  
We left the kitchen, me following him, drying my face with a towel.  
"That don't make a lick of sense."  
"Yeah. Yeah, you're preaching to the choir," I said.  
"Dean, your chest was in ribbons, your inside were slop. And you've been buried four months. Even if you could slip out of hell and back into your meatsuit-"  
"I know, I should look like a Thriller video reject," I cut Bobby off from his rant.  
"What do you remember?" He asked me.  
"Not much. I remember I was a hellhound's chew toy and then . . .lights out. Then I come to six feet under, that was it," I told him and watched him sit down. "Sam's number's not working. He's uh . . .he's not . . ."  
I walked round his desk, rubbing my face.  
"Oh he's alive. As far as I know," Bobby reassured me.  
"Good," I said and then realised what he's just said. "Wait, what do you mean 'as far as you know'?"  
"I haven't spoken to him in months."  
"You're kidding? You just let him go off by himself?"  
"He was dead set on it," Bobby defended himself, getting up and moving.  
"Bobby, you should have been looking after him," I said, not being able to believe what I was hearing.  
"I tried. These last months haven't exactly been easy, you know? For him or me. We had to bury you."  
"Why did you bury me anyway?" I asked, knowing the rule was to cremate hunters.  
"I wanted you salted and burned. Usual drill. But . . .Sam wouldn't have it," Bobby answered.  
"Well, I'm glad he won that one."  
"He said you'd need a body when he got you back somehow. That's about all he said."  
"What do you mean?" We could both hear the suspicion in my voice.  
"He was quiet, real quiet. Then he just took off. Wouldn't return my calls. I tried to find him but . . .he don't want to be found," Bobby explained.  
"Oh, damnit Sammy," I said to myself, putting my hands on my forehead and walking around..  
"What?" Bobby asked, now sitting on the edge of his desk.  
"Oh, he got me home okay. But whatever he did, it is bad mojo."  
"What makes you so sure?" Bobby asked.  
"You should have seen the grave site. It was like a nuke went off. And then there was this . . .this force, this presence, I don't know," I tried to explain. "But it-it-it blew past me at a fill-up point. And then this."  
I pulled down my shirt on the left side and pulled up the sleeve of my t-shirt to show him the branded handprint.  
Bobby stood up again, gaping and walked toward me. "What in the hell?"  
"It was a like demon just yanked me out. Or rode me out."  
"But why?"  
"To hold up their end of the bargain," I guessed.  
"You think Sam made a deal," Bobby said rather than asked.  
"It's what I would have done," I told him.  
About a half hour later, I was on the phone, trying to track down my brother.  
"Yeah hi, I have a cell phone account with you guys and I, uh, lost my phone. I was wondering if you could turn the GPS on for me." I paused while they asked me for my name. "Yeah. Name's Wedge Antilles." I paused again. "Social is 2-4-7-4. Thank you."  
I hung up and went over to the laptop on the table.  
"How'd you know he'd use that name?" Bobby asked me.  
"You kiddin' me, what don't I know about that kid?" I sighed.  
I turned the laptop onto web browser and typed in the address for ARC MOBILE.  
Picking up an empty whiskey bottle while waiting, I looked up at him. "Hey, Bobby? What's the deal with the liquor store? What, are your parents out of town or something?"  
"Like I said, last few months ain't been all that easy," he said, his eyes revealing the pain he had dealt with.  
I held his gaze for a moment, replying with "right."  
The laptop beeped, getting my attention and the screen showed a city map with a blue arrow pointing to a star. The locater read:  
**Phone Location:**  
**263 Adams Road**  
**Pontiac, Illinois**  
"Sam's in Pontiac, Illinois," I told Bobby.  
"Right near where you were buried."  
"Right where I popped up. Hell of a coincidence, don't you think?" I looked at him, seriously.  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-  
That night, after me and Bobby had taken a road trip, we walked down a dingy hallway and stopped at the room with the number 207 in a heart on the door, and knocked.  
The door was opened by a small woman with brown hair and man, was she hot, especially since she was only wearing a tank top and underwear.  
She looked from me to Bobby, expectantly and then asked, "so where is it?"  
I looked to Bobby confused. "Where's what?"  
"The pizza . . .that takes two guys to deliver."  
"I think we got the wrong room," I said but then saw Sam come out of a doorway behind her.  
"Hey, is-" he started to asked the girl but stopped when he saw me, his eyes flickering from me to Bobby and back again.  
"Hey there, Sammy," I said with a smile on my face.  
When Sam said and did nothing but just stood there breathing hard, I moved forward and the hot young woman had no choice but to move aside and let me walk in.  
As I got close to him, he pulled out a knife and launched himself at me, making the woman scream. I managed to block his attack and Bobby grabbed Sam by the arm that held the knife and held him back, his left arm round Sam's shoulders, but Sam continued to struggle and try and get to me.  
"Who are you?!" Sam shouted at me.  
"Like you didn't do this!" I shouted back at him.  
"Do what?!"  
"It's him, it's him. I've been through this already," Bobby said to Sam. "It's really him."  
Sam stared at me and slowly stopped struggling. "What."  
I carefully moved back towards him. "I know, I look fantastic, huh?"  
Bobby let go of Sam when he saw Sam was on the verge of tears; he didn't need as much convincing as Bobby and stepped forward, pulling me into a desperate hug. I hugged him back, glad to back with him and Bobby stood to the side, watching us with tears in his eyes.  
Sam pushed me back to arms length and the hot young woman, who was looking really confused, said "so are you two like . . .together?"  
The look on Sam's face said that he had forgotten all about her.  
"What? No, no. He's my brother."  
I couldn't believe she thought we were gay. If this were any other situation, I would have laughed.  
"Uh . . .got it. I . . .I guess. Look, I should probably go," she said, awkwardly.  
"Yeah. Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Sorry," Sam apologised to her.  
After the woman had got dressed, Sam walked her to the door.  
"So, call me," she said.  
"Yeah. Yeah, sure thing Kathy."  
The look of disappointment flooded the woman's face. "Kristy."  
"Right," Sam replied, looking guilty and the woman walked out without saying anything else.  
When he came back into the room and sat down, I was leant back with my arms crossed and both me and Bobby glared at him suspiciously.  
"So tell me, what'd it cost?" I asked in a no nonsense voice.  
Sam smiled, getting completely the wrong idea. "The girl? I don't pay, Dean."  
"That's not funny, Sam. To bring me back. What'd it cost? Was it just your soul or was it something worse?"  
"You think I made a deal?"  
"That's exactly what we think," Bobby said.  
"Well I didn't," Sam denied.  
"Don't lie to me," I ordered, seriously.  
"I'm not lying."  
I got moved closer to Sam. "So, what now? I'm off the hook and you're on, is that it? You're some demon's bitch-boy? I didn't want to be saved like this," I stressed.  
Sam looked at him, his face angry. "Look Dean, I wish I had done it, alright?"  
"There's no other way this could have gone down. Now tell the truth!" I shouted, grabbing the front of Sam's shirt.  
"I tried everything. That's the truth," Sam pulled my hands off his shirt. "I tried to open the Devil's Gate, Hell, I tried to bargain, Dean, but no demon would deal, all right? You were rotting in hell for months. For months, and I couldn't stop it. I'm sorry it wasn't me, alright? I'm sorry."  
"It's okay, Sammy. You don't have to apologize, I believe you," I softened.  
"Don't get me wrong, I'm gladdened Sam's soul remains intact but . . .it does raise a sticky question," Bobby pointed out.  
"If he didn't pull me out, then what did?" I wondered and looked to Sam.  
Me and Bobby walked to the sofa while Sam went to get us all a beer and when he came back, he handed them us and sat opposite me.  
"So, what were you doing around here if you weren't digging me out my grave?" I quizzed him.  
"Well, once I figured out I couldn't save you, I started hunting down Lilith, trying to get some payback," he answered.  
"All by yourself? Who do you think you are, your old man?" Bobby accused.  
I saw something out of the corner of my eye and crossed over to it.  
"Uh, yeah, I'm sorry Bobby, I should have called," Sam apologised to Bobby. "I was pretty messed up."  
I picked up what had caught my attention, a pink flowered bra. It didn't really seem that my brother had been grieving much.  
"Oh yeah, I really feel your pain," I said, snidely, holding up the bra.  
"Anyways, uh, I was checking these demons out of Tennessee and out of nowhere, they took a hard left, booked up here," Sam avoided explaining about the bra.  
"When?" I asked.  
"Yesterday morning."  
"When I busted out," I said, looking from Sam to Bobby.  
"You think these demons are here cause of you?" Bobby asked me.  
"But why?" Sam was confused.  
"Well, I don't know. Some bad ass demon drags me out and now this? It's gotta be connected somehow," I said.  
"How you feelin', anyway?"  
"I'm a little hungry," I answered Bobby.  
"No, I mean do you feel like yourself? Anything strange or different?"  
"Or demonic? Bobby, how many times do I have to prove I'm me?"  
"Yeah, well listen. No demon's letting you loose out of the goodness of their hearts. They gotta have something nasty planned," Bobby huffed.  
"Well, I feel fine," I told him.  
"Okay, look, we don't know what they're planning. We got a pile of questions and no shovel," Sam stepped in. "We need help."  
A look flashed over Bobby's face as he said, "I know a psychic. A few hours from here. Something this big, maybe she's heard the other side talking."  
"Hell yeah, it's worth a shot," I agreed.  
"I'll be right back," Bobby said and left.  
As I stood up, Sam joined me.  
"Hey wait, you probably want this back."  
I watched as he pulled a cord out from under his collar and on the cord was my amulet. When he put it in my hand, I looked at it touched. "Thanks."  
"Yeah, don't mention it," Sam said ad he watched me put the cord around my neck. "Hey Dean, what was it like?"  
"What, hell? I don't know. I, I must have blacked it out. I don't remember a damn thing."  
"Thank god for that," Sam smiled slightly, relieved.  
"Yeah," was all I replied with.  
In the bathroom, minutes later, I flicked on the light and looked at myself in the mirror. I ran a hand over my face and then leant them both on the sink as my mind went back to the place I have been trapped in for the past four months.  
I could remember when I first got to hell, my face bloody and chains suspending me in mid-air, all around me screams of terror and eerie sounds.  
I pulled myself out of the flashback and just stared into the mirror, blinking, confused.  
About twenty minutes later, me and Sam followed Bobby down a set of steps.  
"She's about four hours down the interstate. Try to keep up," Bobby told us and got in his car.  
"I assume you'll want to drive," Sam said to me and pulled out a set of keys from right trouser pocket, he tossed them toward to me and I caught them with ease.  
I laughed. "Oh, I almost forgot!"  
I approached Baby and ran my hand over her, lovingly. Oh Baby. "Hey sweetheart, you miss me?"  
I got in the drivers side and settled in but paused when I saw the iPod plugged into the stereo. I stared at it in disgust. What was this . . .thing doing in my car?  
When Sam climbed in the passenger side, he gave me a smile which I returned with a glare.  
"What the hell is that?"  
"That's an iPod jack," he answered.  
"You were supposed to take care of her, not douche her up," I moaned at him.  
"Dean, I thought it was my car."  
I sneered at him and sighed as I turned away, starting the ignition. When 'Vision' by Jason Manns began to play, I took an annoyed breath and looked at Sam, a glare on my face. "Really?"  
Sam shrugged innocently and I ripped the iPod jack out, cutting off the music, and threw it into the backseat.  
Driving down the road, me and Sam were back in our original places, having a heart to heart.  
"There's still one thing that's bothering me," I thought aloud.  
"Yeah?" Sam turned to look at me.  
"The night I bit it . . .or got bit," I said and laughed at my own joke. "How'd you make it out? I thought Lilith was going to kill you."  
"Well, she tried, she couldn't."  
"What do you mean, 'she couldn't'?" He made absolutely no sense.  
"She fired this, like, burning light at me and . . .didn't leave a scratch. Like I was immune or something," Sam explained.  
"Immune?"  
"Yeah, I don't know who was more surprised, her or me. She left pretty fast after that."  
"Huh. What about Ruby, where is she?" I asked.  
"Dead. For now," he answered.  
I but my lip, trying to think of what to ask him to fill the silence. It felt like years since I'd seen him; I wanted to talk to him, I just didn't know what to say.  
"So you've been using your, uh, freaky ESP stuff?"  
"No."  
I looked at him. "You sure about that? Well, I mean, now that you've got . . .immunity, whatever the hell that is . . .just wondering what other kind of weirdo crap you've got going on."  
"Nothing, Dean. Look, you didn't want me go down that road, so I didn't go down that road. It was practically your dying wish," Sam stressed.  
"Yeah well, lets keep it that way," I said and for the rest of the way to the psychic's, Sam brooded and sulked.  
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x -x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-  
The next day, me and Sam stood behind Bobby when he knocked on the door and the psychic opened it; she must have been in her mid-thirties and looked like she was able to take care of herself. She was beautiful too.  
She must have been expecting us because there was a smile already on her face when she opened the door.  
"Bobby!"  
The psychic grabbed him and briefly lifted him off the floor, causing both me and Sam to look at each other with our eyebrows raised.  
"You're a sight for sore eyes," Bobby taunted her.  
She stepped back and looked me and Sam up and down, approvingly.  
"So these the boys?"  
"Sam, Dean, this is Pamela Barnes. Best damn psychic in the state," Bobby introduced us.  
"Hey," I turned on my charm for her but Sam being Sam only let out an awkward "hi."  
"Mmm-mmm-mmm," Pamela looked me up and down again. "Dean Winchester. Out of the fire and back into the frying pan, huh? Makes you a rare individual."  
"If you say so," I replied.  
"Come on in," she said and ushered us in, first Bobby, then Sam and last me, then shut the door behind us.  
"So, you hear anything?" Bobby got right to the point.  
"Well, I Ouija'd my way through a dozen spirits. No one seems to know who broke your boy out or why," Pamela answered.  
"So, what's next?"  
"A séance I think. See if we can see who did the deed," she said and Bobby looked at her, suspicious/.  
"You're not gonna . . .summon the damn thing here."  
"No, I just want to get a sneak peek at it. Like a crystal ball without the crystals," Pamela put him at ease.  
"I'm game," I said, following her to wherever she was going..  
In the séance room, Pamela spread a black tablecloth, which was covered in symbols, over a small table and I looked at it wearily. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sam doing the same.  
When she bent down in front of a cupboard, I tilted my head and looked at the bottom of her back where the tattoo was and nudged Sam.  
"Who's Jesse?" I asked.  
Pamela laughed before replying. "Well, it wasn't forever."  
"His loss," I flirted.  
She stood with several candles in her hands and stopped in front of me, smirking. "Might be your gain."  
As she walked past, I turned to Sam, lowering my voice. "Dude, I am so in."  
"Yeah, she's gonna eat you alive," Sam replied, his voice also lowered.  
"Hey, I just got outta jail, bring it," I challenged him.  
Pamela passed by again and winked at Sam. "You're invited too, grumpy."  
I looked from Sam and to the psychic, back again and pointed my finger at Sam.  
"You are not invited."  
When the table was fully prepared for the séance, with six candles around in a circle, we all sat down, around it.  
"Right, take each others hands," Pamela instructed and we did what we were told. "And I need something our mystery monster touched."  
Under the table, she slid her hand down the inside my thigh, and I jumped, bangin my knee on the table, when she reached my groin, causing her to laugh  
"Whoa. Well, he didn't touch me there."  
"My mistake," she smiled at me with a flurty look on her face.  
I looked around at the other three, nervously, and knew what I had to do.  
Taking a deep breath, I took off half my shirt and pulled up the left sleeve of my t-shirt to show them the branded handprint.  
Sam stared at it shocked, then looked at Bobby while Pamela just put her right hand on it.  
"Okay," she said, letting us know she was about to start.  
We all closed our eyes and she began to chant.  
"I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.  
I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.  
I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle."  
The TV behind her flickered on, showing nothing but static, and I began to get déjà vu.  
Pamela paid no attention to the TV and just continued.  
"I invoke, conjure, and command . . .Castiel? No, sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy."  
"Castiel?" I repeated the name.  
"It's name. It's whispering to me, warning me to turn back."  
The white noise on the TV carried on and the table began to shake.  
"I conjure and command you, show me your face.  
I conjure and command you, show me your face  
I conjure and command you, show me your face."  
The table white noise and table shaking became more violent, worrying Bobby.  
"Hey, we should stop."  
"I almost got it," Pamela refused. "I command you, show me your face! Show me your face now!"  
Suddenly, the candles flared up to at least three feet in the air and Pamela began to scream.  
When her eyes opened, they were filled with a white-hot flame and she collapsed; at that same time, the table stopped rattling and the white noise and candles died out.  
Bobby caught her before she hit the floor and yelled, "call 9-1-1!"  
Sam jumped out of his chair and ran into the next room to get the phone, leaving me and Bobby to bend over Pamela. She was conscious but burned and bleeding, and when she opened her eyelids, there was nothing under them but burned, black empty sockets.  
She started sobbing and crying. "I can't see! I can't see! Oh god!"  
I just looked at Bobby in silence, not knowing what the hell to do.


End file.
